


Fixed Gray

by rane_ne



Category: Dragalia Lost (Video Game)
Genre: Absolution, Alternate Ending, Angst, Armorsmithing and armor, Canon-speculation, Character Study, Extra ending, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Pining, Rivals, Unrequited Love, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 04:57:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16486322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rane_ne/pseuds/rane_ne
Summary: 1.Fixed.Ranzal observes Malka in his natural element.2.Gray.In the final moments of their final battle, Leif reflects on his relationship with Harle.Updated:EX 1.Absolution.Extra chapter, following the events ofGray.May add more in the future.





	1. Fixed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ranzal/Malka. 
> 
> 11/1/18 (10:01 AM)

**Fixed**

  
Sweat slid down the man's cheeks in a pearlescent mockery of teardrops, casting a metallic sheen on his haggard face. Exhaustion seethed from each  _thud_  of his hammer onto the anvil, his grip slowly, surely slackening beneath the glow of dusk. 

How long had he been working here? Days had passed since Ranzal last caught sight of those disheveled pale locks, that overzealous pair of intense gold... the crooked smirk of challenge shifting Malka's otherwise normally solemn expression.

The armorsmith was never one to remain modest about his skills, boasting on and off about the magnificent capabilities of his armor, one which he sought to repel both melee and magic attacks. And yet, his seeming arrogance was not all talk, Ranzal realized mere days after Malka had joined their growing group, observing the skillful precision marked upon his crafts--for the battle-torn armors he'd so painstakingly repaired and improved had proven vital to their survival. 

 _Metal on metal_ , the meticulous will of a man determined to create a barrier against those seeking to harm him and his friends.  _Teardrop after teardrop_ , the weary, overburdened heart of a man resolved to defend the innocent, rather than attack the corrupted.

This, this here - the warm glow of a setting sun illuminating the contours of Malka's hunched back, shoulders squared against the mountainous, impossible task before him, sober eyes focused on a broken thing that would surely, inevitably, become  _fixed_  beneath his talented fingers - was what had earned him Ranzal's utmost respect... and affection.

_Thud._

One last emphatic fall of his hammer and Malka finally rose his head to wipe the sweat collecting at the corners of his temple and chin. The brief, ensuing silence brewed warmer than heat from the furnace behind him. Under scraggly strands of silver, Malka tilted his head at Ranzal, who leant against the forge's door with arms casually crossed, gaze softening as they exchanged a mutual greeting. 

"Ah, Ranzal," Malka declared joyously as he set his hammer down and turned to the nearly completed chestpiece on his worktable. His smile gleamed bright, a brilliance far surpassing the golden hue of his armor, as he picked up his latest creation and held it fondly towards Ranzal.

"This is it, this is the one-- This will definitely protect you from all forms of harm, no matter what may stand before you!"  
  
  



	2. Gray

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harle/Leif. 
> 
> 11/1/18 (10:01 AM)

**Gray**

  
The press of sharp gravel dug ridges into his back as, above, the world melted into a sea of gray, frothy, slick rain. He was drowning. A heavy boot on his chest, streams of sticky liquid running down from his forehead to coat his neck entirely crimson. A raven's distaste turned hatred rendering him helpless beneath those red, red eyes.

From afar, he could hear thunder roaring furiously to chide his foolishness; from the depths of his mind, he could hear his liege's frosty snarls of disapproval, an image of Emile glowering down at him while his gaze flickered over indiscreetly,  _lecherously_ , towards--

 _No. No. Not_ him _._

Harle's laugh brought him back, to the bellowing storm of rain and wind and agony fit to split his body wide open. The raven pressed his boot deeper into the brunet's chest, until Leif was choking on his blood again, until his vision swam, and his very being throbbed with pain and ...  _regret_.

The halcyon days of lighthearted sparring were over, innocent youthful bursts of light at the edges of his memory now transmogrified into the smug, hateful image before him--of a man he'd once considered something much, much more than a rival, now an enemy. 

Rain continued to thrash around them as he laid lifeless under Harle. The raven was smiling, face covered in a variety of cuts and bruises and yet able to retain its naturally instilled serenity. He bent forward, left leg forcing Leif down, as his mouth opened and closed soundlessly.

Leif's brow furrowed in pain, unable to comprehend the words coming from the other man's lips. Straining to hear. Desperate to know.

Despite the coldness darkening his eyes, black hair matted and dirty, clothes drenched and stained with both their blood equally, Harle still held the terrible power to undermine every aspect of Leif's composure--stuttering his breath, paralyzing his mind, seizing captive the thin wispy organ in his chest...

It was so unfair. 

How many long years had it been since they'd first met? In his memory, he recalled that fateful spring day when he'd paused in the midst of training and looked up briefly to the horizon, towards the singular figure staring down at him from atop a hill of meadowy green. He recalled the uncertain smile flashing involuntarily across his face, through immediate fear, already knowing that this would not be the last time he'd see this person. And yet the thrill of that one promise - to see the stranger's face again, to meet and  _know_  him - had set alight something inside of Leif. He'd never been as competitive as he was in the few years that followed, determined to prove something to himself and this mysterious, unsettling man.

But as his determination eventually garnered him the title of 'The White Sparrow,' so fate decided to pit him an antithesis named 'The Black Raven.'

They never became anything more than rivals--adversaries, even, in Harle's mind. The last glimmer of hope for anything more had fallen flat and hollow upon a now billion-blooded sea of gray; with this defeat tonight, he knew that his life would be taken. Everything would end.

He didn't resist when Harle grabbed him by the collar, pulling him in so close that his vision was engulfed by the sight of those vibrant, malicious maroons. His chest felt heavy and light at the same time--being able to stare back into the eyes of one who'd grown so familiar to him was... a comfort. 

His gaze softened, already dimming.

Amidst the downpour of rain, Leif could only make out two words - flashing uncertainly across those smiling lips - before Harle's sword penetrated straight through his stomach.

 _"I win."_  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I'M SORRY LEIF_
> 
> (Also, anyone catch the Charles Bukowski reference?)


	3. EX 1. Absolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harle/Leif.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra chapter/extension to **Gray** because I'm a sap and I love this pairing so much and I wanted a semi-hopeful future for these two.  <_< As with all extra chapters, if you prefer **Gray** by itself without needing the cheesiness of this ending, feel free to ignore this chapter; otherwise, enjoy!
> 
> P.S. I apologize if Harle appears slightly ooc here, I just wanted to explore a different side of him that he may possibly only show/feel towards Leif, his ultimate rival. I may also add another part in Leif's pov. We shall see.
> 
> 11/2/18 (6:30 AM)

**EX 1. Absolution**  
  
  
Morning shifted into midday, and the storm finally relented.

Behind a glowing green meadow, the forest was silent with no memory of what had occurred only hours before. Sunlight could be seen reflecting off an array of shimmering grass, drenched in a liquid that flickered between impossible shades of black and white. The birds were humming atop half-severed tree branches, each branch unmoving, each blossoming leaf unperturbed despite the strong, continuous passage of wind. Spring would soon pass and yield more rain. Yet, for now, the battle was over and none had been the wiser.

Miles away from the site of his victory, Harle could still feel the wetness of  _his_  blood flowing between loose, opened fingertips. Something delicious twisted in his chest. He closed his eyes with the faintest smile on his lips, carefully storing the peculiar sensation away.

Warmth. Satisfaction.

_Absolution._

Light overcast, shifting clouds, the groan of Dyrenell's gated doors opening to welcome him and the unconscious body, slumped unceremoniously onto his back, inside.

The citadel's entrance was doused in darkness. A hushed silence fell over his soldiers as he quietly made his way through the grand hall, sneaking past the corridor and towards the back of the castle. Empress Zethia was nowhere to be found and, glancing down quickly at the brunet's slumped head, Harle thought it a blessing in disguise.

For how could he explain to the possessed princess that he'd brought back not a corpse, but the still breathing, very much  _living_  body of Leif, the traitorous former Royal Knight Captain?

How could he have explained the thoughts that flashed through his mind during those final moments of battle, as he'd stared down into the too close, bleeding face of his most hated, his most  _revered_ , enemy--the sharp clench of disgust coiling inside him as he felt Leif's stomach part way to the brute of his blade? How could he have explained why he'd chosen to gore into the safest part of the man's body, precision conclusive enough to leave every single vital organ untouched?

And thus was the reason why the sparrow's pulse continued to beat, wavering but tangible, against Harle's own. 

The bleeding from his stomach was temporarily controlled by makeshift bandages, torn from scraps of his armor, and Harle had checked for any additional life-threatening injuries, finding none besides the large cut to his forehead, the many scrapes and bruises that adorned the exposed portions of his body. His breathing was shallow and he occasionally spasmed with pain, but he remained warm (a bit too warm, if Harle had to say...perhaps he'd come down with a fever?) and alive.  

It was enough for now, until he could find a suitable healer.

His intended destination was far, and the trip seemed to last an eternity. All along the way, his vassals cast him strange looks but said nothing. Harle knew he'd have to sit down and talk with them sooner rather than later - before Zethia caught word of his actions - but that would have to wait. Right now, he needed to secure Leif.

When Harle finally reached his quarters, he sealed the door with a firm lock. After gingerly placing the brunet's body onto the ground, he released a tired sigh, only now comprehending how incredibly sore he was. The back of his coat was saturated with Leif's blood, his limbs were stiff and aching from the sole up, and his vision was steadily growing blurry with drowsiness. Despite all this, he still managed to turn his attention back to his now, he supposed,  _captive_ lying docilely on the bedroom floor. 

The man was a mess of broken flesh and the crumpled remains of his tattered armor. His chest heaved with the colossal effort of maintaining air and he trembled feverishly as soon as Harle moved to touch him, to check if his pulse was still strong. It was strange how fragile this once formidable captain appeared underneath the deconstructed layers of his armor, from the thin outline of his wrist to the fatigue marring his face, shadows transversed over his gaunt cheekbones and around the faint sign of wrinkles, one slash each, beneath his closed eyes.

With a jarring realization, Harle recalled that Leif was older than him by at least half a decade, if not more. It was sometimes easy to forget--for when his eyes were opened, when they settled their gaze upon the raven, those orbs of pure emerald shone with an intensity the likes of which he'd never seen before, lively with a fervor that Harle still couldn't decipher to this very day. During such moments, he appeared so  _young_ , so vastly different a person to this now weakened, shuddering creature unconscious before Harle.   

Perhaps that was why he'd chosen to spare Leif's life. 

Maybe, somewhere deep beneath barrier after barrier of cold sadism, Harle knew that if the brunet were to die, he would miss the light in his eyes.  
  
  


~.

 _"My name is Leif."_   _A handshake offered without hesitation. A low, solemn voice tinted with something akin to awe. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Harle."_

_Dusk was closing in on the day, and the beginnings of Spring stirred up strands of hair over the older man's sharp, but open, countenance. The castle gates would soon be shut, and they needed to head back quickly or risk a sleepless night in the woods._

_But neither moved._

_Standing before the soon-to-be captain of the Royal Knights, in future opposition to his entourage of Capital Guards, Harle stared_   _back curiously as Leif's expression changed, as the briefest flash of red consumed his cheeks--only to disappear in a matter of seconds with the sun's departure._

_Stillness ensued as they were bathed in darkness._

_A stillness that was only broken when the voice - which would soon become as familiar to him as his own - spoke up again. "I look forward to working alongside you."_

_The offered handshake had never wavered._

~.  
  
  


Midnight descended upon the newly dubbed Dyrenell Imperial Capital by the time the healer exited Harle's chambers. Exhausted from hours of work repairing an incredible wound (how had the man managed to stay alive for so long?!), he briefly pondered the oath he'd just sworn--to speak naught of the contents inside his Chief's room.

His mind wandered back to the strange, possessive ferocity on Harle's face when he'd dared to question the Guard's rationality.

 _"B-but, sir, how will you keep the traitor hidden from everyone, especially the Empress?"_  
_A silence--and then: "I have my ways."  
_ _The slow, easy curl of the raven's cruel mouth was all he needed to know._

Shuddering at the memory, the healer hastened his way back to his chambers.

He would  _definitely_  make sure not to utter a sound about his Chief's new captive.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if being Harle's personal captive is a better fate than death.


End file.
